


Waste My Time Dreaming (Of You)

by romanticallyinept



Series: 100 Songs for MCU [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Banter, Coffee Addict Tony Stark, Complete, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flirting, Grinding, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Meet-Cute, Peter is in college, Philanthropy, Sassy Peter, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Violence, barista peter, but of a somewhat selfish nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticallyinept/pseuds/romanticallyinept
Summary: Or, the one where Peter’s putting himself through college working as a barista by day and Spider-Man by night, and Tony just wants his brain.Well, more than his brain. But it’s a good place to start.Now complete!





	1. Call Me

Tony’s head hurts. 

That’s a kind way of describing how he feels. Closing his eyes feels like rubbing sandpaper over his corneas. His mouth is dry, his forehead is throbbing, and the dull ache in his stomach tells him he’s way too close to running on empty.

“JARVIS,” he says, voice raspy. “Coffee.”

“Might I suggest something with more nutritional value, sir?”

Tony drops his head into his hands, wincing as soon as he does it. His fingers are covered in grease and oil, and now his face is, too. Lovely.

“Coffee,” he repeats. His thinks he hears JARVIS sigh, but he’s not sure. The AI has resisted every one of Tony’s attempts to control his sass, and at this point, Tony has pretty much given up.

“If you recall, sir,” JARVIS says, and, yeah, Tony needs to figure out how to tone him down. “You raided every coffee machine in the building for spare parts on the second day of this escapade.”

Tony glances up, ready to call bullshit, but there’s a coffee machine graveyard in the corner of his workshop, and he doesn’t _remember_ scavenging parts, but it’s very obvious he did. He groans, flopping back in his chair.

“Delivery?”

“For security reasons, Captain Rogers has requested…”

Tony groans again, louder. It’s bad enough that his own AI snarks at him - it’s worse that JARVIS listens to Steve more than he listens to Tony. “Fine,” he says, reluctantly pushing himself to his feet. The world wobbles. Tony grabs at the edge of the closest table for support, wincing as the movement makes his migraine that much worse. He’s getting too old for this shit, but his brain hasn’t caught up with the fact that his body no longer tolerates being locked in his workshop for days on end.

“Start the shower,” Tony says, dragging himself towards the elevator. “And order new coffee machines. Lots of new coffee machines. Let’s have some for backup.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tony leans up against the wall of the elevator, closes his eyes, and tries not to think about how comfortable the floor looks.

* * *

The shower leaves him feeling significantly more human, but that comes hand-in-hand with all the human “necessities” Tony has been ignoring for the better part of the past week. He decides, easily, that his first priority is caffeine, and everything else can wait until his brain starts moving at a somewhat acceptable speed.

Happy is _somewhere_ \- (“You gave him the week off, sir.”) - and JARVIS won’t let him leave with a car - (“Your current level of functionality is below the minimum Miss Potts set.”) - so he walks. In a t-shirt, jeans, sneakers and sunglasses, he hopes people will look past him. He just wants coffee. And then he wants to figure out what he’s been working on so obsessively. 

He makes it to the coffee shop down the street without incident. The moment he walks in, though, he knows he’s fucked. The kid behind the counter looks up to greet him, and then his eyes go a little wide. It’s a small expression, and the kid schools it pretty quickly, but Tony still notices. Fuck. running a hand through his hair, Tony prepares for the worst.

“Do you know what you want, sir, or are you still deciding?”

The kid’s voice is surprisingly even, and it’s ‘sir’ instead of ‘Mr. Stark,’ and Tony feels stupidly grateful, even if the kid is still looking at him a knowing grin. He can deal with one starstruck barista. 

He steps up to the counter and doesn’t take off his sunglasses. “Black coffee, medium roast, no room. Three sugars.” He drops the pitch of his voice. “Thank you.”

The kid presses a few buttons on the tablet in front of him, and Tony takes a minute to look at him. He’s cute, the type Tony would go for if Pepper had better things to do than be arm candy for an event. The kid glances up, catches him looking, and his grin goes wry for a moment. “That’ll be $3.18.”

Tony doesn’t remember the last time he was asked to pay for something (scratch that, he does, but the state of New York had been doing the asking and Tony had been going to contribute to the rebuilding, anyway). He just doesn’t remember the last time he was asked to pay for something like _coffee_.

The kid raises an eyebrow expectantly, and Tony finds himself pulling his wallet out of his pocket and handing over a card. 

“Thanks.” The kid flashes him a smile, swipes his card, and hands it back. For a moment, all Tony can do is stare dumbly at it, and then he snatches it back with a huff. He needs coffee and sleep and food and _coffee_.

“Would have considered giving it to you on the house if your last paper on entanglement Hamiltonians hadn’t been so half-assed. Sir.”

There’s a definite pause before the last word. Tony isn’t thinking about it. He’s thinking about how the scrawny barista at the coffee shop down the street knows he put negative effort into his last publication.

“What’s your name?” he asks, because the kid needs a name in his head, and he’s lacking the nametag the big corporations make their workers wear.

“Peter.”

That’s all he gets. Peter. No last name, no life story, no explanation. 

Tony doesn’t notice that his headache is gone.

“You read my paper.”

The kid - Peter - nods. Grabs an empty cup and starts willing it with coffee. Tony waits, expecting _something_ , but all he gets is the cup handed to him a moment later.

“Sugar’s over there,” Peter says, pointing somewhere behind Tony. “Sign?”

 _That_ , at least, is familiar. Tony gives autographs. It’s nice and disappointing at the same time. But when he looks down, Peter is pushing a receipt towards him. A receipt, for the coffee that he bought. Tony blinks at it, and then picks up a pen and scribbles his name. But he doesn’t push the receipt back. Instead, under his signature, he writes his phone number. His personal one, the one that Pepper and Rhodey and Steve have.

“That better not end up online,” he says. “Call me. If you ever want to discuss entanglement. Or anything.” He pulls a few bills out of his wallet and drops them in the tip jar. They’re hundreds, and Peter looks up at him, questioningly.

Tony takes a sip of his coffee, burns his lip, and makes a face at how bitter it is. Right. Sugar. “Call me,” he says again, and then he turns and gets his sugar and leaves.


	2. Intellectual Ownership

Peter calls the next day. Tony thinks it’s the next day, at least. The blackout curtains in his room are disorienting, and it’s the call that wakes him up. 

“‘lo?”

“Bad time?”

It’s not Rhodey or Steve, and Tony perks up. “No,” he says, kicking the sheets off his legs before standing. “JARVIS, lights. This is a fine time. Perfect time.”

“Jarvis?”

“My AI,” Tony explains, and JARVIS turns on the lights so he can find a pair of pants on the floor. He tugs them on with his phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder. Definitely doesn’t almost faceplant.

“Cool.”

“ _Very_ cool,” Tony corrects. There’s a shirt on his dresser, so he tugs it over his head, getting his phone caught in the collar in the process. 

“-you sure this is a good time?” he hears, when he manages to get the phone back up to his ear. He looks down at his feet, decides to forgo shoes as he steps out of his room.

“Yup. Getting dressed. All good on my end.”

There’s a pregnant pause. Tony wonders if the connection died, if he accidentally hung up, but Peter’s voice comes through the line again after a long moment. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

His tone is the same, and the words are innocent enough, but Tony’s brain still goes to the gutter. “You’re not interesting enough to make me answer my phone during sex, kid.”

“You think I’m interesting?”

“Yes,” Tony says blatantly, padding into the kitchen and pressing a button on the (brand-new) coffee maker. “I didn’t give you my number for a booty call. I want your brain.” That doesn’t sound quite right, so Tony tries again. “I want to know why your brain is being wasted on cappuccinos when it’s capable of processing and _criticizing_ peer-reviewed articles on quantum mechanics. Specifically, _my_ peer-reviewed articles on quantum mechanics.”

He waves a hand at the TV, and JARVIS turns it on. The story is most definitely _not_ about him - some kid in lycra is playing vigilante and the media is in love with every move he makes. Steve wants to recruit him. Tony wants to know if his webs are organic or synthetic.

“College is expensive and internships don’t pay.”

“College,” Tony repeats, because somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that the kid could still be in school. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Peter is answering exactly what he asks. Nothing more. And Tony wants the more, wants to have his implied questions answered without having to voice them. It’s frustrating and challenging and Tony is hooked.

“Where are you going?”

“Columbia.”

Tony pulls the phone away from his ear and pretends to strangle it. The coffee machine dings, and, frustration momentarily subdued, he reaches for his cup and then heads back to the elevator. “I take it you’re not dropping 60k a year to study English.”

It’s the kind of statement Pepper would hit him for, but Peter doesn’t seem like he’s easily offended. Tony hopes he’s not easily offended. He hates putting brain power towards censoring himself. 

“I’m dropping 35k a year to study physics and biochemistry,” Peter says. “I’m orphaned and poor. I get a lot of scholarships.”

It’s the first bit of extra information the kid has handed over. Tony counts it as a personal victory and leans up against the wall of the elevator as it takes him down to his workshop. “My sympathies and all that.”

Yet another thing Pepper would hit him for. He makes a mental note to practice keeping his mouth shut before she returns from wherever she is. 

“I’m incredibly comforted, sir.”

The elevator doors open, and Tony just stands there, blinking. The honorific definitely catches him off guard, even if the sentence it’s paired with is brimming with sarcasm, and he flashes back to questioning brown eyes and an upturned nose and thinks that “cute” probably isn’t the most accurate descriptor for Peter’s personality.

“Did you call just to sass me?” Tony asks, finally stepping out of the elevator. “Because believe it or not, I’m running on a pretty tight schedule.”

“I actually wanted to ask you something.” There’s a familiar rustle on the other end of the line that Tony recognizes as the sound of papers being shuffled around. “I’m looking into creating a nano-tech material. Basically, something that will repair itself if damaged.”

Tony makes a noise. He glances over at the mess left by his coffee machine destruction marathon, and decides Peter’s problem is significantly more interesting. “Flexible material?”

“Yeah. Very. Think spandex.”

Tony snorts his laughter and takes a sip of his coffee. “Kinky,” he says, and then gestures one of his displays on.

“Sure,” is Peter’s only response. He’s back to giving no extra information, and Tony doesn’t like it. He calls up a handful of files, flicking through them until he finds what he wants. “I’ve got some notes about I project I benched. Self-healing body armor. Similar idea. You want?”

“Yes, _please_.”

Tony’s hand hovers in midair for a moment before it drops to his side. “And what, exactly, am I supposed to be getting in return for this?”

The kid doesn’t miss a beat. “Intellectual ownership of anything I create off your notes, and the joy of knowing you helped a _very_ grateful sophomore with a term project.” His voice changes around the word ‘very,’ though Tony’s not sure if it’s sexy or sarcastic emphasis that he’s going for.

He waves a hand, zipping the files together. “That’s a good start,” he says, pulling up a chair and letting himself fall back into it. “I still don’t know much about you.”

“I was always taught never to give my social to strangers, but if you insist…”

Tony laughs, and his smile lingers. The back-and-forth is good, easy, like they’ve known each other for years instead of hours. It’s nice in a way Tony hasn’t had in a long time. “Three files,” he says, fingers dancing over the armrest of his chair. “Three questions. Honest answers. With detail,” he adds, because Peter’s smart and loopholes are a thing.

“Fine. Three questions,” Peter agrees. “Hit me.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Parker.”

There’s no hesitation, no pause like Peter is thinking about the question, either to make up an answer or decide if it’s too personal. Tony feels a little blindsided with the implied trust, tucks the thought away to think about later.

“Two more questions, Mr. Stark.”

“I know, I know. I’m thinking. Shut up.” Tony’s voice is impatient, but there’s not quick comeback, so he assumes the kid actually listened. “How much do you make a week?”

There is a pause this time, but it’s brief. Mental math brief. It’s acceptable.

“Two-fifty, give or take. Tips are better some weeks.”

Tony remembers dropping hundred dollar bills into the tip jar. He wonders how much of that will make it into Peter’s pocket. 

“Last question,” he says. “Are these notes really for a term project?”

He knows it’s the wrong question as soon as he asks it. It’s a ‘yes-or-no’ answer, and it doesn’t invite detail. He wants to kick himself.

“No,” Peter says, slowly. “It’s a personal project.” A pause, and then, “The end goal is to construct a bodysuit that can both maintain sterile conditions around a wound and apply pressure.”

“Smart Band-Aids,” Tony says. It gets him a chuckle.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Intellectual ownership is yours, kid,” Tony says, flicking his wrist to send the files to Peter. “Go crazy. Patent it. Make money. Never ask someone ‘whole or skim?’ again.”

“Thank you.”

Tony wants to know, very much, about Peter’s personal project. He wants to see the kid work, learn his thought processes, figure him out. “You’re gonna need lab space,” he says, already looking around to find a place for Peter in the disaster that is his workshop. “And access to nano-tech.”

Peter hums. “Are you offering?”

“Yes,” Tony says. He doesn’t think about it.

“When would you be available?”

Tony doesn’t remember offering _himself_ , just his space. But he doesn’t correct Peter. Sometime during his research extravaganza, he cleared his schedule for the rest of the week, so it’s not like he doesn’t have the time. Not like he wouldn’t _make_ the time either. 

“My schedule is more flexible than yours,” he says, instead of any of that, which is still true. College classes and hourly jobs are distinctly not flexible. “Whenever is fine. Text me before.”

There’s a long pause, but Tony waits it out. He’s starting to learn, figuring out Peter’s quirks. And, eventually, the kid coughs and says, “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” and his voice is so sincere Tony feels it in his chest. 

“Next coffee is on you,” he says, and then he hangs up.


	3. Espresso Shots for Assholes

Peter texts two days later.

The text itself is simple. _Good time?_ , like Tony hadn’t told the kid that any time was a good time, like he hadn’t committed himself to staying in New York for the rest of the damn week so he could figure out what makes the genius barista tick. He’s not upset, though, not really. He’s too interest in Peter’s “personal project” to be upset.

So he has JARVIS make the kid a security code that will get him into the Tower and down to the lab. And Tony’s done his research - he’s not going in blind. Peter didn’t need to give up his SSN for Tony to find out everything about him. The orphan thing checks out, and so does the poor thing. The kid’s in debt up to his eyeballs, and his only in his second year. His grades, however, are excellent, and Tony wants to know why the hell Peter Parker hasn’t been on his radar before.

The kid shows up an hour later, and the first thing Tony notices is that he’s as nice from the waist down as he is from the waist up. Peter’s jeans cling to him like a second skin, showing off every one of his assets. But he’s also wearing sneakers and long sleeves, so he knows about lab work, and Tony doesn’t think he’s ever been so torn about being attracted to physicality or mentality. It’s oddly frustrating; he wants to fuck attractive people and he wants to collaborate with smart people, and the overlap is usually negligible. Usually. Not with Peter, apparently.

“Mr. Parker,” JARVIS announces. Peter glances up, smiling at the camera in the corner. 

“Hey, JARVIS.”

Tony’s AI doesn’t respond, but the notes Tony sent Peter get pulled up automatically on a screen in the area of the lab Tony has designated as Peter’s. It’s the sort of thing JARVIS does when he approves of someone.

“Oh, cool!”

Tony watches as the kid bolts over to the workspace, eyes wide as he looks over the documents. It takes him thirty seconds to figure out how the display works, and then he’s flicking the notes over onto the table and grabbing a notebook out of his backpack. Tony clears his throat. 

“My AI gets a hello, but I don’t?”

Peter looks up over his shoulder, and even Tony chastising him can’t put a damper on how ecstatic he looks. “Hi, Mr. Stark,” the kid says, and his voice has an almost breathless quality that makes heat curl in Tony’s gut, low and dark and very, very wrong. “Sorry. Didn’t want to interrupt anything important.”

Tony glances down at what he’d been working on. It’s the cause of his coffee-machine killing spree, and the theory is solid, but his prototype is clunky. That’s what he gets for trying to replicate “Spider-Man’s” web shooters based off a few blurry YouTube videos.

“Nothing important happening here,” he says with a shrug, leaving his station to move to Peter’s. “Your project is currently the most interesting thing on my agenda. No pressure,” he adds, flashing a grin. 

“No pressure,” Peter repeats, and his eyes are starstruck, but his voice is playful, goading. Flirty. Fuck, Tony hopes it’s flirty. If he never gets to see what’s under Peter’s tight-fitting denim, he might cry.

“Get to work,” he says, feigning annoyance and waving his hand at the console in front of Peter. “How much time you got?”

Peter glances at his watch. “Three hours?” he offers. Right. It’s Tony’s lab. Tony makes the rules.

He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out a badge. It’s got Peter’s driver’s license picture on it, and under the kid’s name, it says “SI - Intern.” Tony hands it to Peter and watches as his eyebrows draw together in confusion. “It doesn’t pay - yet,” Tony says, shrugging one shoulder. “But if you’re going to be tinkering around in here, you might as well be able to put it on your resume.”

Peter blinks at him and doesn’t say anything. Tony wonders if he’s overstepped - he does that, a lot, puts people off with the gestures he makes. But after a moment, Peter reaches out and takes the badge with something that feels a lot like reverence. Whatever it is, it feels more honest than the adoration Tony usually gets. He likes it. 

“Yet?” Peter asks, and it takes Tony’s brain a second to catch up.

“What? Oh, yeah. They make me get that shit approved, now, but once I tell the board about…”

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony stops, raising an eyebrow and looking at Peter.

“Why… I’m missing something here.” Peter looks confused. Worried. That was definitely not the reaction Tony was expecting. At all. “Is this… are you giving me a job?”

Tony waves a hand at the space around them. “Would you rather me here, getting experience in your field, or pulling espresso shots for assholes?”

“Here,” Peter says immediately. “But…”

“No buts.” Tony shakes his head. “I like you. You’ve got a lot of potential, and as good as Columbia is, you’re going to get lost in the crowd until grad school.” Peter’s eyes widen a little, like grad school wasn’t even on his radar. “I’m just giving you a little boost. Well, a big boost. People will take all of your applications a lot more seriously with my name on your reference list.”

For a moment, Peter just looks at him, searching. Tony doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he apparently finds it, because the kid’s shoulders relax visibly. “I’m not a charity case,” he says, but it’s not an accusation. It’s not defensive. It’s just Peter acknowledging the truth of the situation.

“Pity doesn’t get you into my lab,” Tony says. “Potential does.”

Peter glances up. Grins. Tony returns the gesture. 

“So, you still have to sell me to your board?”

Tony makes a noise and waves his hand. “Your transcripts would be more than enough. They’ll see you as an investment, something they can put money into now and get innovation of later.” He rolls his eyes, but he knows that’s how the board thinks. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re pretty and wholesome and come packaged with a tragic backstory that makes SI look oh so generous.”

Peter laughs. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Don’t go fishing for compliments, kid,” Tony says, wagging his finger in Peter’s direction. Peter raises his hands like he won’t do it again. Tony hopes he _will_ do it against. The mixture of shy disbelief and easy confidence that Peter radiates is intoxicating, and Tony wants more exposure.

Tony Stark has a crush. God help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guys, I just finished Black Sails on hulu and never have I EVER wanted to write pirates as much as I do now. I won't spoil anything if you haven't watched it - just know that the gay is canon and not imagined and it's WONDERFUL, okay?
> 
> Also the fandom is teeny-tiny and that makes me sad.


	4. Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man

The board approves Peter’s internship over the weekend. More importantly, they approve the $17 an hour Tony wants to pay him. When he presents Peter with the contract, he watches as the kid’s eyes linger on that amount for a long moment before he signs. To Tony, it’s a small sum of money, but he knows it’s not that way for everyone.

And it turns out to be worth every penny, because Peter throws his back into the research.

If he’s not in class, or sleeping, Peter is in the lab. Tony lets him do his homework there, too, so Peter does, usually curled up on the couch while he pencils in notes in the margins of his books, and Tony tries not to enjoy just _being_ around him. 

Pepper returns a week after Peter becomes an intern, on a Tuesday. It’s Friday when she pulls Tony into her office, looking four different kinds of exasperated and disappointed. 

“Are you sleeping with him?” she asks, her arms crossed on her chest.

Tony makes an offended sound (he’s not offended - Pepper knows him, and, honestly, it’s a fair question). “No,” he answers. Pepper raises an eyebrow. “Seriously, Pep. He’s an intern. I may have acquired him through unconventional means, but I did the paperwork and everything. And I needed to get him on board before Hammer got wind and got into a bidding war with me over someone who’s going to be a very valuable asset.”

Pepper purses her lips, and Tony knows she doesn’t believe him. He sighs. “I’m not sleeping with him _yet_ ,” he amends. “But it’s not priority number one, okay? He’s got some really good ideas about that body armor project I was working on and…”

“Okay.”

Tony blinks. “Okay?”

Turning, Pepper picks up a folder off her desk. “Okay,” she repeats. “I believe you. If you did just want him in bed, you would have done it already.”

She’s right. Tony grins, even as Pepper pushes him out of her office. He does want more than just Peter in bed. He wants a lot more. Mostly, he wants Peter in his space, in his lab, working on his projects and snarking at Tony with every other word.

When he gets back to the lab, Peter is sitting at one of the workstations, but his head is propped up on his hand and his eyes are closed. Tony frowns. Thinks about how much time the kid has been spending in the lab. It should definitely leave him enough time to sleep, especially considering that he does all his homework right there, too.

“Late night?” he asks, and Peter jerks awake, eyes wide. 

“Shit,” he breathes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Tony holds up a hand. “It’s fine. Why don’t you take the afternoon, okay? You’re not going to be very useful around here if you’re falling asleep on me.” Peter’s expression goes guilty instead of relieved, though, and Tony sighs. “You’ve done more this week than I get out of most interns in a month, kid. Go home. Get some sleep.”

Peter stands, picking up his backpack. “Thank you, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Tony shrugs, walking Peter to the workshop’s door. “Don’t worry so much. You’re only human.”

Peter turns to look at him, and there are dark, heavy circles under his eyes. His smile isn’t sincere - in fact, it’s barely a smile at all. It doesn’t reach his eyes. It barely reaches his _mouth_. Tony doesn’t realize he’s reaching out until his hand is on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing gently. He doesn’t say anything else, but Peter’s smile looks a little more genuine when he leaves.

* * *

It’s a few hours later when JARVIS politely interrupts the paper Tony is editing. It’s the entanglement paper, and Tony is determined to actually put some effort into it, this time around.

“Sir? I believe you would be interested in the latest breaking news story.”

Tony has JARVIS set to alert him to a variety of keywords, so he nods and pulls up a news feed in the corner of his screen. He intends to go back to his paper, but the headline immediately catches his eye.

“SPIDER-MAN WOUNDED.”

As Tony watches, the newscaster recaps the story. He sees Spider-Man swinging between buildings, chasing down some villain armed to the teeth with swords. Then one of the webs misses, and Spider-Man falls, and one of the blades slices through his side. 

The headline changes. “SPIDER-MAN’S WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN.”

Tony’s phone rings. 

“Hey, Pete,” he says, muting the newsfeed. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting some sleep?”

“Mr. Stark,” Tony breathes, and his voice is absolutely wrecked. “Fuck. I need… I need help.”

Tony sits up straight, the tone of Peter’s voice setting him on edge. “Okay. I’ve got you, kid. Tell me what you need. I’ll make it happen.”

Peter makes a sound, low and pained. “Bleeding,” he grits out. “Can’t… isn’t stopping.”

With the tap of a few buttons, Tony pulls up Peter’s location. Another few taps dispatches one of his auto-flying suits to to him. “All right,” he says, forcing his voice to stay even. “Keep pressure, and keep talking. I’ve got a suit coming out to get you. You’re going to be fine.”

Peter whines, and the sound tugs at Tony’s chest. “Talk to me,” he repeats. “Come on, chatterbox. Don’t pick right now to start shutting up.”

Something like a laugh comes over the phone. “‘m sorry,” Peter says. “For making t-trouble.”

Tony’s about to go off about how it’s not causing trouble if Peter is _in_ trouble, but the sound of metal scraping on pavement comes across the line. The suit is there - Tony breathes a sigh of relief. “JARVIS, update,” he says, pulling up the suit’s video feed.

He sees Peter, laying on the ground. He sees a dark puddle underneath the kid, burgundy and reflecting the streetlights. And he also sees the skintight red and blue bodysuit that Peter is wearing, ripped and dirty, but still recognizable.

“Mr. Parker has lost a considerable amount of blood,” JARVIS says. “His internal organs seem relatively unharmed, though he will need a transfusion and stitches, sir.”

Tony watches as the suit carefully gathers Peter up before taking off, back towards the Tower. The line goes dead, but it’s probably just as well. The first priority is making sure Peter isn’t going to bleed out. After that, they can unpack the secret superhero identity thing.

By the time the suit arrives, Tony has a makeshift medbay set up in the lab, complete with blood packets and enough anesthesia to sedate a horse. He pulls up Peter’s medical records (illegally, but he thinks the breach is justified) but there’s no web-slinging related information in them. There’s very little of anything at all, except Peter’s vaccination records. So he’s going in blind, without knowing how Peter is going to react to anything Tony gives him.

The suit enters the workshop a moment later, Peter in its arms. The kid is pale, but he’s awake, and he tries to go for a smile as the suit sets him down on one of the tables. “Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he breathes, wincing, but Tony just shakes his head. 

“Not now,” he says. Peter’s grin fades, and he nods, his head thumping back on the table. Satisfied that the kid is done talking, Tony moves to look at the wound. It goes from his hip up to his ribs, a clean slice that’s still bleeding sluggishly. For how deep it is, Tony figures the kid should have bled out already.

“Dammit,” Tony mutters under his breath. He grabs the IV attached to the transfusion, sliding the needle into the back of Peter’s hand. The blood is going to be all he can give. Peter obviously has some form of genetic mutation or enhanced healing, and there’s no way in hell Tony is going to give him something without knowing how he’ll react. “This is going to hurt,” he says, and his tone is somewhere between a warning and an apology.

Peter just grits his teeth and nods, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. And Tony wishes that he could do something, anything, for the pain that Peter is in, but wishing doesn’t fix anything and stitching will. He picks up a curved needle, already threaded.

“Deep breath, kid.”

To his credit, Peter deals with the stitches well. He stays still, doesn’t make any noise, and then only way Tony can tell he’s actually still alive is the steady rise and fall of his chest and the occasional clenching of his fists. It takes 19 stitches for Tony so be reasonably satisfied with how the wound is held together, and Peter is silent for each and every one.

When he’s done, Tony sits back. Peter’s blood is still on his hands, and he knows he should get up, clean up, do anything other than stare at his hands and try to figure out how the hell this situation is happening. 

Up on the table, Peter shifts, and Tony’s head jerks up. “Don’t move,” he snaps. “You’ll pull your stitches.”

Sheepishly, Peter lays back down. He’s already less pale, which is good. He probably doesn’t need any more of the blood Tony’s giving him. So Tony gets to his feet and takes the needle out of Peter’s hand, but when he goes to turn away to dispose of it, strong wingers wrap around his wrist. 

There is worry and panic and fear in Peter’s eyes when Tony looks at him. He actually looks nineteen, a little lost and a lot unsure, and Tony knows he’s fucked because his first instinct is to comfort the kid, instead of chew him out for…

“I’m sorry,” Peter says. “I wanted to tell you, I did, I just…”

“I get it,” Tony interrupts, and Peter’s look of relief is almost overwhelming. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? You need sleep right now.”

Peter nods. This time, Tony doesn’t stop him from trying to get up. But when the kid starts moving toward the door, Tony shakes his head.

“You are _not_ taking the subway back to the dorms like that,” he says. He jerks his head toward the elevator. “Come on. I have guest rooms to spare.”

For a moment, Peter just looks at him. The kid is a wreck: his suit is hanging around him in tatters, he’s covered in blood, and he’s swaying a little on his feet. He’d get the cops called on him before he was halfway home.

“Come on,” Tony says again, more gently this time “I’m not about to lose my favorite intern to New York’s public transit system.” He pauses. “Besides. The media would crucify me for sending our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man away still bloody and limping.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, but he follows Tony to the elevator. And if the kid leans on him a little on the way up, well, Tony figures that’s his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question of the day: what other ships do ya'll have? I need to branch back out. I have a Hawksilver fic in the works, a lovely starker AU that's going to kill me, and a sequel to my incubus!Jesse Overwatch fic, but I need... more.


	5. The Superhero Thing

Tony doesn’t sleep very well most nights. Between his nightmares of Afghanistan, his irregular work hours, and his tendency to abuse both alcohol and caffeine, he’s lucky if he manages four hours on a good night. 

The night Peter spends in the guest room, sleeping away his recovery, is not a good night. It’s entirely harder than it should be to get the image of Peter, covered in blood, out of his head. And, beyond that, Tony is still reeling, a little, from trying to reconcile Peter Parker and Spider-Man as one and the same. 

He lays in bed for most of the night, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out if he should be upset.

* * *

Tony jerks awake to JARVIS’s clam voice telling him that Peter is trying to sneak out a window. 

He’s still dressed from the night before, so he’s able to leave his room immediately and head towards Peter’s. His steps lag, though. He’s too damn tired for this, for the conversation that’s going to happen, for the questions that have to be asked and answered.

JARVIS opens the bedroom door as Tony approaches, and sure enough, Peter is at the window, trying to pry it open. There’s thin sheen of sweat on his forehead when he turns to look at Tony, and he looks so miserable that Tony’s chest aches.

“It’s _hot_ ,” Peter says, and his cheeks are flushed and his chest is heaving, and he’s only in his underwear (something Tony’s brain stutters on for a moment) but his skin is still shiny with sweat. Tony blinks. Maybe Peter wasn’t trying to escape to avoid talking to him. Maybe he’s just trying to get some air. Maybe… 

Peter sways on his feet, and Tony is at his side a moment later, slipping a supportive arm around his waist. The kid is hot to the touch, clammy under Tony’s palm, and the way he all but sags against Tony’s side speaks to how not all right he is. “JARVIS,” Tony says, nudging Tony back towards the bed. “Turn on the AC. What’s he’s running?”

The AC kicks in before JARVIS answers. “Mr. Parker has a temperature of 103 degrees.”

Peter groans as Tony makes him sit on the bed. “I’m okay, Mr. Stark,” he says, but when he looks up his eyes are a little glassy, and his cheeks are still flushed. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t…”

“I get it.”

Peter’s jaw snaps shut, and his eyebrows draw together in confusion, and Tony takes the opportunity to push the kid back onto the mattress. He pointedly doesn’t think about another scenario, where Peter is still flushed and panting and sprawled out on a bed, because it is not the time. 

(He does file the thought away for later, because he’s never going to be able to forget the way the kid says “Mr. Stark” in that breathy voice).

His admission surprises him a little, too, though, in how true it is. He does get it. It’s a hell of a secret, and Tony isn’t famous for his ability to keep those. 

“Sir?”

Tony hates the uncertainty in Peter’s voice. “My life has been open to the media, to everyone, for as long as I can remember,” he says. “So giving them Iron Man wasn’t exactly… hard. It was the same invasive shit all over again, but I was used to it.” He looks down at Peter, meets his eyes. “I can understand why that sort of public presence isn’t attractive to everyone.”

Peter’s curls are plastered to his forehead, and it’s way too easy for Tony to reach out and push them back into place. “But I hope you know that this hero gig doesn’t get you off the hook for lab work.”

Peter laughs, and it’s a broken, wet sound, but it’s better than nothing. Tony managed half a smile. 

“This why you wanted to do your project?”

Peter nods, and Tony’s hand slides down to the nape of the kid’s neck. He knows he should pull back, but Peter lets out this little shuddering sigh and relaxes, just a fraction. It’s not exactly a casual touch, but Tony tries not to think about it. 

“You’ve gotten hurt before.”

Peter nods again. “Not as badly,” he explains. “But it… my aunt, I’m all she has left. I can’t put her through that.” The kid shrugs, lifting one shoulder. “But I can’t _not_ do this, either. People need help, and I…”

Tony squeezes the back of Peter’s neck gently. “I know,” he says. “Hard to look the other way when you’ve got the power to do something about it.” He hesitates before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “So, fever and superhuman healing aside, how are you feeling?”

Peter shrugs. “Physically?” he asks. “I heal quickly. The fever will go away. It hurts, but.” He finishes the sentence with a quirk of his mouth. Then there’s a long pause, but Tony waits it out like he’s learned to do, giving Peter time to put together whatever he needs to say.

Eventually, the kid looks up, meeting Tony’s eyes. “Do things go back to normal now, or…?”

Or. That’s the question of the hour. And Tony could say no, could make this change something (what, he doesn’t know, because they both still want Peter in the lab and it’s not like the revelation has done anything to quell the desire simmering in Tony’s gut). But the look on Peter’s face is wary, untrusting, so Tony just nods and squeezes Peter’s shoulder as he stands up.

“Mostly back to normal,” he says, and before Peter can read too much into that, he continues. “You need major upgrades to your gear. Because as fun as this little adventure has been, I’d like for you to never ever be bleeding out in my lab again. Okay? Okay.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees, and this time, his smile reaches his eyes.

“Great.” Tony claps his hands. “In that case, there’s someone you need to meet. JARVIS! What’s Capsicle’s schedule like?”

“Captain Rogers is available tomorrow afternoon. Would you like me to add an appointment to his calendar, sir?”

As Peter stares in open-mouthed shock, Tony nods. “Please and thanks. Make the memo ‘The Mighty Avengers Meet Spider-Man,’ or something like that. I want drama.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony spins to look at Peter. “If you’re going to do this superhero thing,” he says, “you need to do it right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies. There will be no update this Thursday (I'm struggling with the next chapter - but you'll have porn to look forward to, eventually), but I'll make it up to you by posting a one-shot I've been sitting on for a while. It won't be Starker, though, so, sorry. All my Starker fics are developing plot bunnies and getting away from me lol.
> 
> (Also, 'The Mighty Avengers Meet Spider-Man' is the actual title of an actual Avengers comic which I found _hilarious_ ).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	6. Welcome to the Avengers

“He’s a child, Tony.”

“I’m nineteen!”

The meeting, Tony thinks, is going great. He hasn’t seen Steve this annoyed in… well, ever, and Peter’s fired up, too, because Steve is inadvertently calling his competency into question. His competency as _Spider-Man_ , no less. Tony is almost offended on Peter’s behalf. Only almost, though, because he’s mostly just entertained. 

“He’s not trained,” Steve tries again. “It would be too dangerous…”

“Do you maybe want to stop talking about me like I’m not here?”

Steve’s eyes shoot daggers at Tony, who raises his hands like he’s surrendering. “He has a point.” Which Peter does. 

And Steve apparently sees the point, too, because he turns to look at Peter. “Putting you on the team would expose you to a lot more risks,” he says. “The Avengers’ enemies would become yours, too, and adding people who want to harm you is never a good idea.”

“Obviously,” Peter replies dryly.

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll think about it,” he says, finally, but Tony knows that tone all too well. He turns to Peter, grinning brightly.

“Welcome to the Avengers, kid.”

If Steve glares a little as Tony escorts Peter out of the room, well, Tony just has too much fun riling him up.

“Is Captain America everything you thought he would be?”

Peter snorts. “He was never my favorite Avenger, so it’s not like I have to go home and tear down all my posters.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “You have Avengers posters?”

And Peter actually _blushes_ , pink tinting his neck and the tips of his ears. It’s such a cliche, but Tony wants to see how far down that blush goes, wants to trace the edge of it with his tongue and…

Peter coughs, jerking Tony out of his accidental fantasy. “I uh,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not… exactly? I um.. I have _Iron Man_ posters.”

He glances up at Tony like he’s expecting a rebuke. And Tony’s not new to having fans, but he is new to having fans that he willingly spends time with, and he’s not entirely sure how to handle the situation. He does know it isn’t _bad_ , though. Peter’s not too caught up idolizing Tony to get things done, to _sass_.

He grins. “See, I’m definitely getting old. In my day, posters were mostly jack-off material.”

Peter makes an unholy sound, somewhere between a groan and a squeak. And Tony thinks he might have crossed a line, gone a little too far, but then Peter looks up with dark eyes and smirks. 

“Not that much has changed since your day, Mr. Stark.”

The look Peter is giving him is pure heat, all hooded eyes and teeth biting at his lip. It’s inviting, and for a moment, Tony can’t breathe with how much he wants. And there’s absolutely no doubt in that look that Peter wants, too.

“JARVIS,” he manages. “Elevator. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

The elevator door dings open, and Tony takes the opportunity to turn and all but rush into it. This… this _thing_ that’s coming to a head between him and Peter feels like it’s closing in around him, and he almost wants to laugh at the thought. Tony Stark, shying away from someone who definitely wants to fuck him? The tabloids would have heyday. 

“Tony?”

Peter’s voice is soft and concerned, and his hand is on Tony’s arm. Tony can feel its warmth through his sleeve. And Peter said “Tony,” not “Mr. Stark,” which means whatever line there still was between them has most definitely been crossed.

Tony tries for a cocky grin, but by the look on Peter’s face, he doesn’t quite manage it, because of course he doesn’t. It has to be a new record for him: Fastest Relationship Fucked Up In History. He lets out a gasp-like chuckle at the thought, and Peter raises a questioning eyebrow. 

“Nothing,” Tony says, dismissively, one he finds his voice. “I just...It’s nothing I’m fine.”

“Bullshit you’re fine.”

Peter’s voice, and his eyes, are hard, and Tony knows he’s not going to be able to back out of whatever conversation Peter wants to happen. So he takes a deep breath and tries to stand up straight and at least look like he’s an adult.

“I don’t want to fuck this up,” he says. “With you, with… this.” He waves his hands at the space around them. “And as much as TMZ likes to pad their stories, they did do pretty accurate reports on how well I managed to fuck up every single relationship I’ve ever been in, and…”

“And,” Peter interrupts, just as the elevator dings. “You worrying isn’t going to change anything, is it? It’s just going to make you feel worse.”

The doors open and Tony realizes they’re on his floor. This is where JARVIS decided to take them, instead of the lab, instead of… well, anywhere else. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and then slides past Peter into his living room. He needs a drink, or a smoke, or a fight, or _something_ to distract him from the fact that he’s balking when he’s been given exactly what he’s been pining for. He turns

“Do you want…” he starts, and then there’s no mistaking the eagerness in Peter’s eyes. There’s no mistaking the movement he makes, either, walking forward until Tony feels obligated to let the kid press him back against the wall. 

“I have spent more time over the past few weeks than I would like to admit jerking off to you,” Peter says, and Tony is almost jealous of how even his voice is. “I want to know if the real thing is any better.”

“I…” Tony starts again, but Peter just shakes his head. 

“But we can find that out tomorrow, or the next day. Right now, can I just…?” Peter smooths his hands over Tony’s chest. “Can I just be around you?”

“Of course, kid,” Tony says immediately, and that’s how they end up spending the afternoon in Tony’s ridiculously oversized bed, dozing while they’re curled around each other. And every time he slips back into consciousness, with Peter in his arms, he basks in the feeling and tries to store it away in his mind so that, when he doesn’t have the real thing anymore, he’ll at least have the memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with the next chapter! Updates will only be on Mondays now - I pulled out an original romance I was working on a few months back and I'm hoping to submit it *soon* to a publisher. Eek! 
> 
> In other bonus news, I regained access to my prompt email, so if you want to drop me a prompt there, go for it! It's theexplodingpenwrites (@) gmail (.) com.


	7. Your Bed Is Boring

The alarm goes off sometime between Tony falling asleep, and dusk. It’s a piercing sound, designed to get everyone up and awake and energized, and Tony has never hated it more. He groans and sits up, then the he sees Peter. And he remembers the afternoon they spent in bed, but that’s not what he’s thinking about at the moment. 

Peter is curled up in the fetal position, hands over his ears, and it takes tony far too long to realize that if the alarm is loud for him, then it’s got to be overwhelming to Peter’s enhanced senses.

“Shit! JARVIS, silence the alarm.”

Tony’s ears are still ringing, and he knows he should be getting up, checking in with Steve, figuring out what caused the ‘Avengers Assemble’ alarm, but there’s Peter, and it’s too damn early (late?) for Tony to even think about how he shouldn’t care as much as he does. He puts a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Hey, kid. Breathe. It’s off. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think…”

Finally, Peter takes his hands off his ears. He cracks his jaw, winces, and then looks up at Tony with a pained smile on his face. “Some alarm,” he says, and _oh_. Right.

“I have to go,” Tony says, all but tumbling out of the bed. Peter looks confused, and Tony wants to soothe him, but he’s already running behind and he barely has the time he needs to grab his cuffs and slap them to get the Iron Man suit to spread out over his body. “Avengers call,” he says. “Please just… stay right there.”

* * *

_Stay right there._

Tony remembers saying that. He remembers distinctly, because he’d thought about coming back home to that, to Peter in his bed, maybe sleeping, maybe naked and jerking off to another fantasy about Tony himself. But the thing is, Peter didn’t listen, because halfway through their fight with what appears to be a sentient swarm of wasps, Spider-Man appears.

He’s in a new suit, and Tony recognizes the fabric as what Peter has been working on in the lab. The last he remembers, all they had was cloth, which means that Peter enlisted someone’s help to craft it. Tony blames JARVIS. The seams on the suit are invisible, and it fits Peter too perfectly to have been put together by human hands.

“Tony, heads up!”

Peter’s voice comes through the comms moments before he throws something in Tony’s direction. It’s not a person, so Tony blasts it on instinct, blinking when the object disintegrates into shards of metal and strands of webbing. Peter is catching these things in his webs, and tony wants to laugh at the absurdity of it. Instead, he blasts the next wad Peter throws his way, switching over to a private comm channel. “This doesn’t look like staying put,” he says, jetting away as part of the swarm breaks off and heads towards him.

Peter laughs, bright and earnest. “Your bed is boring without you in it,” he replies, and the next bundle of bugs and webs he tosses out gets crushed against a wall by Steve’s shield.

Tony doesn’t have a comeback, clever or otherwise. So he goes for, “Don’t distract me,” and uses his repulsors to blast a good portion of the swarm into one of Peter’s waiting webs.

He hates to admit it, but they get things cleaned up a lot faster with Peter’s help. The kid’s all bouncy energy, and it’s like he can be in four places at once, even while he’s pausing to take masked selfies with people on the street. It’s easy to see how much the public adores him, and Tony can’t help but think they’d love him even more if they knew Peter Parker as well as Spider-Man.

“That’s a wrap,” Steve says after the last of the techno-wasps have been destroyed. “Good work, everyone.” He pauses. “You too, Parker. Thanks for the assist.”

Peter doesn’t reply over the comms, but Tony _knows_ he’s preening over the praise. He’s glad. Steve is finally seeing some of the kid’s potential. But when he looks around to find the kid to tell him “good job” face-to-face, Peter is nowhere to be found.

Tony is most definitely not disappointed. He sets the suit on autopilot, letting it find its own way back to the Tower. What would he have said, anyway? “Great job on your first day as an official superhero. Sorry about my freak-out last night. I’m down for a do-over if you are.”

Yeah, no. It’s better that Peter decided to leave. Maybe things will go back to normal, now. Not that Tony _wants_ things to go back to normal, per se, but he’s pretty sure that normal will be better than this weird, uncertainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like it's been longer than a week since my last update, but it's Monday, so here you go!


	8. A Lot Like Love

Tony almost just heads straight for the lab, but he knows Peter won’t be there, either. And crawling back into bed and trying to sleep off whatever he’s feeling sounds better than chewing out JARVIS for helping Peter put himself in danger. 

He lands on the balcony, the suit folding in on itself around him as he steps through the sliding door. The cuffs are the first to go, and the rest of his clothes hit the floor as he makes his way to the bedroom, so that when he finally crosses the threshold, he’s just in his underwear.

And Peter is in his bed. 

Tony blinks, and the kid looks up from where he’s sprawled over the pillows, looking cozy and warm and _inviting_. “What?” Peter asks. “You told me to stay put.”

Tony thinks, a little distantly, that he should probably stop jumping to conclusions, especially where Peter is involved, because apparently his brain has a blind spot when it comes to the kid. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he goes over to the bed, leaning down to brush a kiss over Peter’s forehead before sliding in next to him.

It’s warm under the sheets, and when Tony reaches out to tug Peter in a little closer, his hand encounters the bare skin of Peter’s side. At the kid’s expectant look, he lets his hand trail down a little father, his mouth going dry as his palm brushes over the smooth skin of Peter’s hip, his thigh.

“You’ve just been laying here?” he asks, meeting Peter’s eyes. “Naked? Waiting for me?”

Peter cocks an eyebrow and grins. “Did a little crime-fighting in there, but yeah.”

Tony can’t help himself - to be honest, though, he doesn’t really try. He leans forward and presses his lips against Peter’s, letting his eyes flutter shut as Peter presses forward against him. All that warm, bare skin is up against his own, and it’s everything Tony’s been wanting and not nearly enough, all at the same time. 

And it’s almost like Peter can read his mind, because suddenly he’s straddling Tony, warm palms pressed against his chest and pupils wide and dark. His cheeks are stained pink, and Tony thinks that he looks like a fucking work of art. 

Ten minutes later, he comes in his underwear like a horny teenager. Peter collapses on top of him, still trembling slightly from his own orgasm, and Tony lets himself stroke his fingers over the expanse of Peter’s back, making up for all the touching he hasn’t let himself do. 

“Coffee’s on me in the morning,” Peter mumbles against the older man’s neck, and Tony feels something a lot like love settle into his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end! Note the rating change - I fully intended this story to have a lot of levels of heat, but it stopped feeling right towards the end. 
> 
> Still open to prompts, pairings, or good new music - and if you want to see all my future starker fics, subscribe!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Fall Out Boy's "Of All the Gin Joints in All the World"
> 
> Prompt me! Pairings, songs (I need new music tbh), tropes... Whatever you want!


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